THE WINDOWpinnacle, a dome; prominent things, without names.But when Minta dropped her hand, as she did whenthey ran down the hillside, all that, the dome, thepinnacle, whatever it was that had protrudedthrough the mist, sank down into it and disappeared.Minta, Andrew observed, was rather a good walker.She wore more sensible clothes than most women.She wore very short skirts and black knicker-bockers. She would jump straight into a stream andflounder across. He liked her rashness, but he sawthat it would not do—she would kill herself in someidiotic way one of these days. She seemed to beafraid of nothing—except bulls. At the mere sight ofa bull in a field she would throw up her arms andfly screaming, which was the very thing to enragea bull of course. But she did not mind owning upto it in the least; one must admit that. She knewshe was an awful coward about bulls, she said.She thought she must have been tossed in her per-ambulator when she was a baby. She didn’t seemto mind what she said or did. Suddenly now shepitched down on the edge of the cliff and began tosing some song aboutDamn your eyes, damn your eyes.They all had to join in and sing the chorus, andshout out together:113
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane